


and the universe said be stronger than you are

by caydiink (gayleb)



Series: Dream and the various parental figures he manages to collect [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Neglect, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Death, Found Family, God - Freeform, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Kinda, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, like it isnt Really but it also is, only really implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayleb/pseuds/caydiink
Summary: The gods had seemed untouchable, neverreal,but the threat of them still lingering. They were something everyone knew, but no one truly trusted.Why would a being with that much power waste time on simple things like humans? What could they possibly gain from that?Dream didn’t know what he loved about the humans, but he did know he had given up his life to become one.AKA Dream is a god, and he can't die. That isn't always a good thing, and outliving everyone you love can cause some problems
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone
Series: Dream and the various parental figures he manages to collect [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070822
Comments: 38
Kudos: 827





	and the universe said be stronger than you are

**Author's Note:**

> Basically at like 3 am a couple of nights ago i was like "what if Dream is immortal, and the reason he like, starts so many wars and shit is because he's immortal and he hopes one of them kills him" and then this was born :)
> 
> also BBH's time to shine! but only at the end afhbfbhg this one is very dream centric (as if my other stuff Isn't)

The gods had seemed untouchable, never _real,_ but the threat of them still lingering. They were something everyone knew, but no one truly trusted.

Why would a being with that much power waste time on simple things like humans? What could they possibly gain from that?

Dream didn’t know what he loved about the humans, but he did know he had given up his life to become one.

_(That wasn’t true. He would never truly be a human. He was still a god, but now he simply lived amongst men. A being of unfathomable power walking alongside the mortals, pretending to be one of them._

_He could never love like a human could, or breathe or die or hurt like they could. He would always be more than they could ever dream of becoming. It was simply how he was created.)_

It had been amazing, seeing something so small, so weak, so unmistakably _human._

Until a hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye, and all the friends Dream had made were dead and gone, grown up without him.

They had lived their lives, growing older as the time passed, and before Dream knew it they were gone.

And there he was, looking exactly as he had the day he stepped foot in their world, the gods behind him, offering their blessings as he left with a smile on his face and eyes wide in awe at the world around him.

He wasn’t sure if gods could die, but that was when he learned gods could grieve.

Every month, for the next hundred years, Dream would visit his friends’ graves, offering small gifts, praying to the gods he had once known so well to offer them a pleasant afterlife. To give them the life he wished they could’ve shared with him even after death.

Dream mourned for the people he had grown to love, the people he had given up everything to live amongst, and he moved on.

He wandered for a couple of decades, staying in small villages or towns for a couple of nights before moving on, finding the next group of people to entertain him, and taking in everything the world had to offer.

Dream was still amazed, even now, hundreds of years later, at everything this world had. The plants that grew despite so many things in the world that would try to tear them down, the mountains that rose before their inevitable fall, born from nothing but stone and dirt.

_(He had spent a few months underground, exploring the caves and the life beneath the mountains and the earth._

_He hadn’t put much thought into it before now, but he quickly realised that there was an entirely new form of life, dwelling beneath the ground, hidden in plain sight._

_He spent months just watching, observing everything that the caves had to offer, the echoes in large, open spaces, the strange creatures that lived in the darkness, that had grown and evolved and adapted to their circumstances._

_These beings had overcome every challenge their lives had thrown at them, and Dream couldn’t help but be amazed. For even though they would never be as strong as him, they had found a way to live against all odds._

_It was beautiful, it was new, it fascinated Dream._

_But it was oh so lonely.)_

After he had left the caves behind, Dream set out for a new village, walking along dirt paths, following different tracks, man made or from animals he never knew, just waiting to see where it would lead him next. 

Eventually, after a couple weeks of wandering, he found a nice village. It was larger than the last one, but the people were welcoming, and he found himself staying longer than anticipated.

Dream met new people, made new friends, and felt more alive, more human, than he ever had.

He had found a new life, new people to live at least the next hundred years with.

_(They would ask him why he never changed, why he stayed as young as he was all those years ago while everyone else around him withered and died._

_Dream would sit next to them on their deathbed, and whisper to them things only a god would know._

_They would look up at him, realisation, and acceptance, and pity all showing clearly on their faces. They would see him for who he was, and they would know what he had been through, and they would love him all the same for it._

_Dream would close his eyes as they passed, sending a blessing to the gods he had loved all those years ago, and pray for their souls to be treated well, to be taken care of when he could no longer help them._

_Dream would mourn, and he would grieve, and he would pray, and he would hope, for just one person to stay with him through it all._

_But that could never happen, for gods never walk amongst men.)_

He lived there for months, finding new friends, new people who were the same age as he looked, but wouldn’t be for long, a blink of the eye for a god, but he would cherish them while he could.

An old couple had taken him in, offered him a home when he told them he had nowhere else to stay, no family to call his own. They had looked at him with sorrow, but never pity, and opened their door to him.

Dream could do nothing but accept, reminded of the gods who had once held him so carefully, a young god brought into the world, with still so much to learn.

Now, Dream was an old god, but new to humanity, and the couple had taught him everything he never could’ve learned on his own.

They taught him what it was like to feel loved, wholly and completely, without fear that it was simply being loved out of necessity, out of fear of what he would do if angered.

They loved him as their own, and he loved them just the same.

Dream made sure their crops would flourish and their house would stay standing despite the storms that would rage through the village, tearing trees and roofs down in its wake.

Their home would stay safe as long as he stayed there, and Dream could feel the other gods placing small blessings upon the dwelling, answering his prayers in the dead of night.

_(Dream prayed like the mortals, because he too could no longer see the gods._

_He knew they were up there, but he prayed as if he were a simple follower, blind with belief, faith held in their hands held out in front of them._

_He prayed, and hoped the gods would answer his call, as they looked down upon the child they had formed with their own hands, and feel pity._

_Dream didn’t know if gods could die, but in those moments, he hoped gods could love, if only for a moment.)_

He had been living in the town for a year and a half, when war struck, fast and deadly, leaving the village scrambling to defend itself in a weak attempt at salvation.

Dream stood in the house, his family behind him, praying to the gods Dream knew would never answer, and he watched the village burn.

Screams rang through the air as people were slaughtered, corpses littered the street and houses he had grown to know so well were burned to the ground.

He looked around, and saw everything he had worked so hard to protect, taken from him in one night.

_(Taken from him like everything else had been._

_In that moment, Dream hated humanity. He hated everything it had given him, only to be taken away mere years later._

_It had given him so much hope, only to burn it before his eyes as he was forced to watch, helpless to do anything but watch and pray._

_Dream squeezed his eyes shut, and begged for forgiveness. He begged for just one person to live, so he wouldn’t be alone again._

_He prayed for a way home. Whether he meant back to the gods and their cold gazes and empty praise, or the home he had found in that village, into the waiting arms of the old couple who had loved him as if their own, and showed him the good that could be found in humanity._

_Dream failed to see any of it now. All he could see were the flames that took the one thing he had truly claimed as his own away from him, destroying it before he had ever gotten the chance to love it._

_Dream didn’t know if gods could die, but humans certainly could.)_

He had left the house, hugging the couple before he went, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads, promising to protect them, to keep them safe.

He stepped out into the village and the flames surrounded him, trying to claim him as their own, travelling up his skin, searching for something to burn.

Dream just walked through them, eyes glowing with power he hadn’t unleashed for years, electricity burning beneath his skin as hot as the fire around it.

He stepped through the ruined town, footsteps echoing amongst the crackling of flames, smoke billowing behind him like a cloak, skin turning black beneath the fire, pain only a distant memory.

All Dream could feel was anger.

He slaughtered any person he came across, rage clouding his vision, as his hatred burned.

The humans had done this to him. The humans had ruined this town he called home with war, and they had taken everything from him.

If he had to feel this pain, he would ensure they felt it with him tenfold. 

Dream was covered in blood and gore and regret as he stood, surrounded by the bodies of the men he had killed, the street stained red with their blood, fires still roaring around him.

Dream took a breath, blinking his eyes, veins glowing a brilliant green with the amount of energy running through them, waiting to be released.

He ran, tripping over the corpses that lay around him, pushing through the fires that raged nowhere near as much as him, and stopped in front of the house.

The house that was now nothing more than a pile of ash, flames still licking at destroyed walls, burning the memories he had made along with it.

He stepped into the rubble, pulling away ruined bits of wood or furniture, the memories of the year he had spent in its walls, more of a home than anything he had ever felt.

He dug through all the broken memories, until finally, he found them.

Their bodies were burnt, exposed skin charred and black, blood coating their faces and staining their clothes and their hair. The bodies were covered in ash and gore, limbs twisted at awkward angles from where the rubble had fallen on them, gashes and tears in their skin gushing blood.

Dream pulled their corpses close, hands stained red and cheeks damp with tears, and he _screamed._

He sat there, knees digging into the ashes of their home, and he sobbed, body heaving as he clutched his family close to his chest.

His tears burned as they fell down his cheeks, landing on the bodies clutched in his arms, their corpses growing colder despite the fire raging behind him.

Dream sobbed for days, sitting in the ruins of the village he had sworn to protect, and he broke.

Even gods could cry.

Dream prayed, he shouted, he seethed and ranted in anger and pain and heartbreak and grief. He yelled at how unfair it had all been, how everything he had loved was taken from him in one night, burnt to the ground as he could do nothing but watch.

Dream had never felt so powerless. He was a god, he should’ve been able to stop it, he should’ve been able to do _something._

He couldn’t do anything now but cry, mourning the life he would never have again.

After a week, Dream stood up, legs shaking beneath him and bodies cradled in his arms. He walked, eyes forward as the world passed by him, any beauty he had found in it now gone.

Finally, Dream pushed his way into a small clearing, trees surrounding them, blocking out the rest of the world.

He laid the bodies on the ground, and slowly, Dream began to dig.

If he couldn’t save them, he could at least give them a proper burial. A ceremony fit for gods.

Once the graves were covered, marked with a stone he had carved himself, Dream knelt at their graves, and prayed.

It left him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth. His hands clasped in front of him were stained red with the blood he had shed, fingers black and scarred from the flames he had forced his way through.

Dream knelt there and wept, eyes shining as he sobbed, and said a final goodbye to the people who had shown him what family was meant to be, dying so soon, sooner than he ever would.

Just like everyone always did.

_(“Your eyes shine so bright,” she had told him, hand cupping his cheek, “they say so much. Everything you never could.”_

_Dream frowned at that, but she had simply laughed and pulled him close. Dream melted into her touch, something so foreign to him that he found himself craving. The gods had no time for something so trivial, so weak, so human._

_“It isn’t a bad thing dear,” she had said, kissing his cheek, “it’s wonderful. Seeing your eyes light up, the way you care without having to say a word.”_

_Dream had stared at her, and felt more vulnerable than he ever had. He thought about how, one day, she would die and he would be left alone, and he would have to find a way to go on without her._

_“Oh dear, please don’t cry,” she had said, wiping the tears he hadn’t realised had begun to fall._

_He pressed his face into her neck, pulling her close, as if he held on tight enough, it would keep her from dying, and he could keep one person. He wouldn’t be left alone again._

_Gods couldn’t die, but gods could feel.)_

After that, Dream used his hands, blood staining them days after he scrubs them raw, and forges a mask. It covers his face, keeping the world and the horrors it had shown him at bay.

The one thing that had made him so undeniably human now hidden from view.

Dream wandered, never staying in one place for too long. He would head into a village, and see opportunity, see a world where he stays, and fits in with everyone, and they grow old and maybe just this once he could die with them, but he knows he can’t.

He leaves before he can get attached, Dream can’t bear to watch another person leave him.

He watches wars break out, towns starve and burn, everything he had once grown to love now tainted with violence and bloodshed.

He had tried to intervene, at first. He would step in, do his best to save as many lives as he could, but the one thing he learned about the humans was that they would take, and take, and take and they would never be satisfied.

Death came for everyone but him. 

He watched the world he knew being reborn, rising again and again from the ashes, and everything he had known being torn away only to be shoved into a newer, more confusing world.

Eventually, Dream gave up trying to salvage lives or houses. He let the villages burn and the people scream. Instead, throwing himself into the heart of each battle, praying that the arrows that pierced him, the swords, and the fire, and the bloodshed would finally take him out.

He just wanted to rest. He wanted to join the people he had lost. He wanted to go home.

But home didn’t exist for him. It hadn’t been with the gods, and it could never be a home now burnt to ashes, destroyed and built over as the years passed.

Dream didn’t have a home. The gods were never allowed such a luxury.

Gods couldn’t die, no matter how much they wanted to.

But Dream kept going, and eventually, when the battles left him with nothing but scars, and any place he may have been able to call home had died, Dream made his own town.

He travelled and searched and walked until he found his own space, and he called it home.

It would be his, and he would find a family, and he would protect it with his life until it killed him or the people he loved.

Over the years, people joined his land, agreed to his rules, and listened to what he had to say, and it was good.

He loved people just as he had decades ago. He held them close to his heart, and did everything he could to make things better. He kept war from their lands and provided everything they needed.

_(He had stopped praying. He wasn’t sure exactly when, but it was around the time he had thrown himself into battle, hoping one of those fights would be his last._

_Dream didn’t need the gods’ help. He didn’t need them to coddle him, or pity him. He didn’t need them._

_This way, if Dream never asked them for anything, he couldn’t be ignored. They wouldn’t be able to deny him anything if he never asked._

_Dream had had enough false hope for one lifetime.)_

Dream drove out war from the outside, protecting his land from the horrors he had seen and the bloodshed he had aided.

He had never expected a war to come from within.

Dream stood on a battlefield, watching everything he had worked so hard to protect crumble, by his hand and others, and he wept.

Tears shed beneath the mask, the weakness hidden away beneath it all.

Dream watched as yet another thing he loved was taken from him, and he’d had enough.

He fought tooth and nail, any hint of strategy gone as he ripped and stabbed and shot at anyone he could, leaving himself wide open, accepting any wound with glee.

_(And maybe during the battle, he prayed for this to finally kill him.)_

After the first war, Dream had left, standing in the woods miles away from his land, and he screamed.

He stood there, his mask thrown off and face red and angry, tears streaming down his face as he broke. 

He had had so much taken from him, but he was forced to keep living. Dream didn’t have to guess about where the path his land was on was heading, he could see death and destruction coming from a mile away.

He saw everything falling apart, and could do nothing to stop it.

Dream was forced to stand there and accept, just like everything else in his life. He stood there, as the gods surrounded him and blessed him with traits he never asked for, condemning him to living, forced to continue even as everything he loved died around him.

Dream stood there in the middle of battle, shutting his eyes and pretending. Pretending that he could join the screaming people, could fear death the way they did.

Instead, he longed for its embrace, always just out of reach, taking what he had failed to save and running, leaving him behind, left alone to pick up the pieces.

Dream sobbed for everything he had lost and everything he knew he would lose, because it was only a matter of time.

Gods couldn’t die. Even as time continued to take and take and take, it never took him.

The next war came, and Dream tried to stay out of it, he really did. 

But he watched everyone. He watched people fight, and die, and he watched them fall to a sword or an axe or an arrow, and he longed for that.

His heart was drawn to the battle, and who was he to deny a god?

Dream tried to step back, to appreciate what he had while he still had it, but he couldn’t help when his heart longed for the release death brought with it. He craved it.

So he fought. He joined the losing side, and fought with everything he had. If he couldn’t die, if he couldn’t rest, maybe the people he faced could, if just for a moment.

Dream watched everyone as they slowly rebuilt, the country they had fought so hard for rising from the ashes and standing anew. 

It was unfair. Why did that country get to rise again, when everything around Dream only fell, burnt to the ground and torn from his grasp as he was left with nothing.

Why did they get a second chance when Dream never did?

Things had settled. It was calm, and no one was fighting, and for the first time in what felt like forever even to the god, there was peace.

Dream’s heart ached for the promising sound of war, of bloodshed, of the one thing he longed for that he was never allowed, that he could gain some form of comfort from, even just watching it unfold.

Dream longed for death, and no one could deny the god.

Dream began to pray again. He prayed for everyone to live, to keep going even if he couldn’t, forced to live on after he was gone, to feel how he had felt.

It was lonely. His friends would never understand the pain he felt, the raw feeling of being completely and utterly _alone_ that suffocated him every day.

He was surrounded by friends, people he loved, but looking at them, all he could see were corpses waiting to die. Walking around amongst the living, but never there for long enough.

He had seen it time and time again. Every smile only a reminder of what was to come. A reminder of how weak Dream was, unable to stop it.

Dream kept his distance. He didn’t want to remember what their touch felt like when they were gone, he didn’t deserve it. Comfort was for humans, who were small, and weak, and so breakable.

Gods didn’t deserve that luxury. It was something Dream had been born knowing, something he had forgotten along the way.

_(He still remembers the way that couple held him, as if he was all that mattered. He felt like he was seconds away from shattering, the world so difficult and big and terrifying, and Dream was oh so small in their arms._

_But that was just a memory, and it had only ended in heartbreak. Dream had had enough of that for all of the lifetimes he had lived through._

_Gods could not die. Gods were untouchable.)_

Dream watched as Tubbo became president, and he watched as Tommy yelled, and lived his life loudly as he laughed, unaware of the heartbreak everything eventually led to.

Dream watched Ghostbur, given the release of death, an escape from everything he had done in life, a new chance to repent and live on even in death.

But here Dream was, alive and painted as the villain of their history, and so, so alone.

Then, Dream watched as Tommy burnt down George’s house, and all he could see was a small house on the edge of the village, and ~~his parents~~ the couple he had lived with smiling sadly at him as they burned, corpses charred and unrecognizable as Dream choked on the smoke and ash.

Dream snapped. He loved Tommy, he really did, but Tommy didn’t get it.

He didn’t get how much this land mattered to Dream, how much damage he could cause, how much Dream had to lose.

Dream thought, if he showed Tommy what it was like, what being alone, _truly alone,_ was like, he would get it. Maybe someone could understand.

And when Dream built the obsidian walls, towering towards the skies, locking everyone inside, he thought it was helping.

If nothing could reach them, if they could stay within the walls, away from harm, maybe he could keep them safe. Maybe he wouldn’t be left behind.

But then George and Sapnap left. There was no death, no murder, no blood being spilt. It was just two friends who had had enough, turning their backs and walking away.

Dream prayed to be struck down, for death to finally claim him as it had everyone before him. He prayed to be listened to, for someone to hear his cries.

Dream would even go back to the gods, if it meant he could be free of the pain humanity had brought him, if he could just find someone who would stay.

His prayers were left unanswered, and Dream was more alone than he had ever been.

After everything that had happened, Dream knew what had to be done.

_(He knew it wouldn’t work. He had tried, time and time again. But he had to try yet again._

_Maybe this time, he would be allowed to die. Maybe he could finally be done._

_Dream was told that gods couldn’t die, and Dream was desperate to prove them wrong.)_

The crater of the country he had tried so desperately to protect sat around Dream as the smoke rose behind him.

His mask was cracked, leaving him open to the world, but Dream was long past caring, staring at the blood pooling beneath him as everyone circled him, watching him.

Dream looked at his hands, felt his chest rise and fall as he took a breath, could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he looked up.

They had never seen a man who looked this broken, eyes wide, shining with tears, and mouth open with distress.

And then he screamed.

Dream screamed, and he sobbed as he looked at his hands still there and heard his heart still beating and he still drew breath. He had lost it all yet again, but this time at his own hands, before anyone could take it first.

Dream sobbed as he fell to his knees, collapsing in on himself as he clawed at his arms, his face, anywhere that was exposed, hoping that he could finish the job. His weapons had all been broken long ago, his own two hands his last choice.

Dream cried and yelled and broke as he sat there, blood caked beneath his nails, and he isn’t sure if it’s from this war or one of the other hundreds he had lived through before this.

His hands were stained red, skin scarred and mind fraying, and Dream still was not allowed to rest.

His vision was blurred with tears, but he felt someone kneel in front of him, hands gently pulling his wrists away from where they had been scratching his face, blood trailing down and dripping off of his chin.

He looked up and met Bad’s eyes, bright white meeting green, and he tore the rest of his mask off, scarred face open for all to see, eyes softly glowing with power, a vibrant neon green.

“Dream,” Bad said, cupping his face, doing his best to wipe some of the blood away, “what happened?”

Dream shook beneath his hands. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, watching him, staring at him and everything he had become, but Dream couldn’t care.

“I want to die,” he said, and everyone gasped, or reeled back, or sobbed, or glared, but Dream didn’t care, eyes focused on Bad as the man’s face broke out in sorrow, “I want to die so fucking much, Bad.”

“God, Dream…” he trailed off, searching for words that could offer even a bit of comfort to the man.

“Why?” Bad asked.

“How am I supposed to live like this?” Dream said.

“Like what?” Bad whispered, but everyone could hear.

Dream sobbed, leaning further into Bad’s hands. It had been so long since he had been touched, since he had been held so gently, and Dream craved it.

“I can’t die,” he said, and with that admission, it felt so much easier to speak, words flowing out of him like blood from a wound.

“I can’t die, but everyone else can, and I’m stuck here, watching the people I love leave me, and move on without me, and no matter how hard I fight I can’t ever stop it,” he sobbed, gasping for breath as he spoke, hands trembling in his lap.

Everyone watched Dream as he continued, eyes filled with tears, bodies covered with ash and soot. “I’ve seen so many people die, Bad,” Dream said, voice broken, “they all left me, and you all will too, and I’ll be alone again, and I’m so tired.”

Bad watched Dream break down in front of him, and his heart ached. He pulled Dream closer, wrapping his arms around the god as he sobbed, screams tearing themselves from his throat as he shook, staining Bad’s shoulder with blood and tears.

Bad rubbed his back comfortingly as Dream cried.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “we’re still here. We’re here and you won’t lose us, we can figure this out together.”

Bad pulled him closer as Dream gripped his shirt, pulling himself as close to the demon as he could get, throat raw and sobs slowly quieting, tears still streaming.

“I have you Dream,” Bad said, kissing his forehead and burying his face in the blonde’s hair, “you won’t be alone again. I’ll protect you.”

Sapnap was the first to move, kneeling down next to the pair and slowly wrapping his own arms around them, comforting the sobbing man as best as he could, showing him that he wasn’t alone.

Slowly, one by one, people stepped forward and joined the hug, comforting each other as best as they could.

Even Tommy, left unsure of the man who had broken so thoroughly in front of them, had joined. He pushed his own fear and anger and grief aside, coming together in this one moment of comfort.

Dream sat there, surrounded by the people he had sworn to protect, the people he had almost destroyed, and felt loved.

Dream, like all gods, couldn’t die.

But maybe, for his family, he could live.

**Author's Note:**

> this one didn't have as much of a relationship with bbh and Dream, but i just really liked this idea afdfhjfgbhjgbgh
> 
> this was genuinely so much fun to write i had a good time writing tis concept, so i hope ppl enjoyed it!!
> 
> this has been a rlly fun series 2 write :) and im glad ppl like reading it
> 
> if you liked the fic pls consider leaving a comment/kudos bc they make me heart eyes
> 
> and if ur interested u can find me on insta @caydiink !
> 
> thank you sm for reading this!! <333


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